


A Brief Moment in Time

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, Time Travel Fix-It, Younger Dean/Older Sam, contains NSFW art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's death was caused by the Mark of Cain.  Sam decides to go back to a time before all of this started.  After finding a suitable spell he finds himself back in Truman High, and goes hunting for Dean who is now <i>the younger brother</i>.  Posing as a janitor Sam finds Dean, but can he change things for good this time?  Or will everything go to hell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief Moment in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Badbastion](http://badbastion.livejournal.com/) on LJ for the wonderful artwork that inspired this story. One of my favorite artists, and I got to work with them!! So happy. Please follow the [link](http://badbastion.livejournal.com/61142.html) to give her the kudos she deserves.

**Prologue**

It had all been worthless; torturing demons, the chase, and the cure. Sam had won the battle but he was nowhere near winning the war.

Dean was dead; his precious brother, the one love of his life, departed in a flash. If either of them had known what removing the mark of Cain would have cost them, they wouldn’t have even attempted to be rid of it. They would have learned to cope with it, the same way they had coped with Sam’s visions, his demon blood, and his addiction. The moment Cain laid his hand on Dean and took the mark back, Dean had collapsed to the floor. No amount of CPR or frantic praying could save him and Sam had had to admit that his brother was gone.

Cas had finally answered his drunken calling. Standing outside their latest motel room screaming at the top of his lungs, Sam had given the angel little choice. Grace restored, Cas was more powerful than ever but he hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be human. Cas felt the loss of his friend, his ally. The pain was clear on his face, embedded deep within his sharp blue gaze. He had hauled Sam to his feet and carried him inside. Sam remembered a soft hand on his forehead, the tender stroke of fingers through his hair and he’d fallen into a stupor with his brother’s name on his lips.

The next few days Cas helped him to sober up and dry out. It was reminiscent of those long months when Dean was in hell, and Ruby had taken control of him. He obediently drank coffee and methodically ate his meals. He stopped drinking and all the Jack mysteriously vanished from the bunker, fruit juice and diet soda taking its place.

He wasn’t beyond begging. Dean’s corpse still lay on his bed, skin turning blue, limbs stiffening. He pleaded with Cas to bring his brother back but the angel either couldn’t, or wouldn’t. There was work for him in heaven, he intoned, serious and pious, more like the Castiel of old. He told Sam he should salt and burn his brother, explained that Dean was at peace now, that he would look out for him when he returned home. Sam shook his head, denial running thick through his veins.  
He wouldn’t give up on Dean, not now, not ever.

The spell was hidden deep within the Men of Letter’s library; Sam had spent weeks buried away in there, only remembering to eat when his stomach ached with hunger, only sleeping when his eyes wouldn’t stay open a moment longer. The bunker seemed cavernous, echoing emptily with only him inside. He hadn’t seen daylight in – what seemed like – months and he knew he was losing his mind. He talked to Dean almost incessantly and he missed his brother like a severed limb. He missed their banter, their physical intimacy and even their fights. He would have sold his soul to bring Dean back again but no demons would come near him, and now that Castiel was gone, no angels either.

Bobby had always warned him against spells. He had told him on numerous occasions, ‘ _they never work exactly how you want them to, boy_ ’, and Sam had to admit that cases involving witchcraft had always been dangerous and unpredictable. Now, holding the faded tome in his shaking hands, he ignored all of those words of wisdom. This might be the only chance he had to bring Dean back to him and he had to take it.

He forced himself to sleep that night; his dreams fitful and indistinct. Dean’s presence was strong, and overpowering. He dreamed of the night they first came together, his big brother’s hands on his body bringing him to orgasm. Dean had been so guilty after, but Sam didn’t care. They had both already sinned so fucking much. Incest was such a small indiscretion compared to all the other things and, in the grand scheme of things, it was worth it. Sam wasn’t a child even if he was the _little brother_. He’d been to college, he’d been in a loving relationship, but nothing he’d had with Jess could have compared to this one thing he shared with Dean and he’d never wanted to let it go.

Only the red flashing alarm told him what time it was. It was dark in the recesses of the bunker’s dungeon, a thick cloying cloak of obscurity. He lit candles and placed them around his carefully drawn sigil. His bandaged arm still ached from the deep cut he had made to get all the blood he needed, and he felt a little displaced and more than a tad uneasy. Winchesters didn’t scare easily but Sam’s fingers shook as they flicked at the lighter, his breath coming fast in his throat, and his chest burning.

He stood tall as he stepped into the middle of the circle. The stink of sulfur made his eyes burn and it was easy to blame the smell rather than admit to tears. The agonizing numbness he’d felt since he’d been sober melted away and he gritted his teeth against the sudden stab of pain. He wished that Bobby was here with him now. He knew that the old man wouldn’t have condoned him, but certain he’d have helped despite his very vocal misgivings. Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard. If this worked, he might very well see his surrogate father again. Hell, he might even see his _real_ dad. He knew how dangerous this was, and if he got even the smallest thing wrong then he might cease to exist. The thought didn’t terrify him as much as it should; without Dean he had no real purpose anyway, so if the spell failed it would be a mercy. 

He clicked the lighter one last time and dropped it down onto the pile of ingredients he’d painstakingly gathered. There was a flash so bright that it crept beneath his closed lids and, despite being deep underground, a sharp wind whipped around him, his hair blowing into his face. Slowly his body lifted up from the ground and began to spin round as the wind grew stronger and stronger. His ears buzzed a soft hum that became a crashing crescendo and his body lifted higher, bowing, his spine cracking painfully, the muscles in his arms and legs wrenching agonizingly tight. He rose higher, higher until he almost touched the ceiling and then, in a flash, there was nothing.

**1997**

 

_’Time travel, Sammy. Really?’_ He could hear his brother’s voice clear as day; Dean sounded exasperated, pissed even. _’You shouldn’t have done it, Sam. I’m not worth it. You should have left well alone._ ’

Sam rolled over and vomited onto the hard surface. Everything ached, and his vision was blurred. He could hear his own heart beating hard in his chest and he swallowed down bile. As his sight cleared he was relieved to see that he was still in the bunker lying just inside the circle. He glanced at his watch but the face was smashed, the hands stubbornly frozen at the time he’d dropped the lighter. He licked his dry lips and heaved himself to his feet. There was no way of knowing yet if he’d been successful. All he could do was hope. Yeah, it was stupid; his internal Dean was right. However, at the time, it had been his only option, his only hope. He knew it was a long shot, but it was a risk he was prepared to take. 

He needed his brother back.

The spell had been old but simple; use his own blood to open a portal and travel back to a time of his choosing. Once he was there he would have twenty-eight days until the waning of the moon, and then he would have to return using the same portal or be trapped forever. There were several other warnings, one being the traveler must not alter the course of world history, another being that if the traveler met an earlier version of himself then he would meet certain death. Sam didn’t intend to alter world history, but he did intend to alter his own family’s history, although, as of yet, he hadn’t worked out how.

His backpack laid spilled open at his feet and he bent to retrieve it, his head spinning in protest. He set it on his shoulder and stepped out of the circle. The bunker didn’t look any different, but then why would it? 

He pushed open the doors, eyes squinting against the brightness of the day. Warm air hit his face and he pushed his hair back from his face. There was no Impala waiting outside, and that was the first sign that whatever he’d done had worked. Nothing else looked much different, but he hadn’t expected it to. 

His legs shook as he set off along the road; he’d never walked this way before and he was already sweating in the cloying heat. He just needed to get to Dean, or this time’s version of his brother. It was a long shot, the longest of shots but if it worked it would be worth it. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen if it didn’t work. He couldn’t contemplate returning to an empty bunker, or to a life that didn’t have Dean in it. He’d tried, more than once, to live without his brother and he didn’t want to try again.

He was headed for Indiana and Truman High. At first it seemed like an odd choice, but Sam knew he had to go back to a time and place that he was familiar with. They’d worked another case at Truman High five years back, right after Dean had come back from Hell and they’d been at loggerheads. Sam sighed and wiped his brow. He always hated fighting with his brother, hated that they allowed themselves to be torn apart by friends and enemies both. He vowed that when he got his brother back, _when_ and not _if_ , he was gonna’ concentrate on being a lover not a fighter.

Going back to a time before the blade, was a simple enough decision. He needed to confront Dean and persuade him not to take the mark. Working with Crowley had proved to be a mistake and one Sam wanted to rectify. He’d considered going back to the church in the back of beyond and actually finishing the trials. If he’d done that then Gadreel wouldn’t have used him as luggage, he wouldn’t have, yet again, alienated his brother, and Dean wouldn’t have taken the mark. It would all be so easy and his brother would still be alive, but for how long? Sam knew damn well if he’d finished the trials and died in the attempt, Dean would only have brought him back again. They would have gotten caught up in that endless cycle of making deals with devils (or angels), and that never ended well.

There was the complication of meeting him too; they may have been estranged for months after Gadreel, but they were still together physically. In fact, Hell notwithstanding, they had lived in each others pockets since Dean had taken him from Stanford. Even when he had been soulless he’d sought out the company of his brother, forcing Dean to leave Ben and Lisa and to work with him instead. They had been co-dependent for far too long, but Sam knew that was something that would never change. Dean had been father, brother, and lover to him, and he owed him his life on so many levels. He wasn’t prepared to live without Dean and, call him selfish, he wasn’t about to.

He had been forced to remember back to his time at Truman while working the _ghost possession_ case. He’d been reasonably happy there, and actually made a few friends. For a sweet moment he had even been the popular kid and, even now, he recalled how happy that had made him. Despite the fact that Dean was _in charge_ of him, he’d not seen that much of his brother. Dean had spent a lot of his time in the supply cupboard with one girl after another. Traveling to ‘97 gave him two advantages; one, he knew where his fourteen year old self would be, and secondly, _past-Dean_ wasn’t going to recognize him. He needed to integrate himself into his brother’s life, and he needed Dean to trust him. There would be a time and place for _the big reveal_ , but first Sam had to get to Trueman High and to Dean.

He hot-wired a car just outside of Lebanon; he was relieved to be out of the heat, winding down the window and letting the sparse breeze cool him down a little. After hours of traveling he had just under another 140 miles to cover before he reached his destination and he wasn’t planning on stopping. He still felt a little sick from his experience, and his mouth was dust dry. He reached inside his tightly packed duffel and pulled out a can. The soda was warm and almost flat, but it tasted like nectar and he swallowed down every single drop. He knew what lay ahead of him and he knew how hard it was gonna be, but he was focused and determined and Winchesters never, ever quit.

It wasn’t quite like _Back to the Future_. Things hadn’t changed that much in seventeen years, and as he approached the outskirts of Fairfax he began to recognize the landscape. Billboards advertised brands long gone out of circulation, and huge posters advertising this year’s film experience, _Titanic_. Sam’s eyes were heavy and his neck ached. He’d been driving for near on 11 hours and, apart from a quick stop for gas, he’d not left the car.

He finally pulled off the interstate to find a motel; he had cash in his pocket and he paid up front. The clerk behind the counter clicked her gum and didn’t even look at him as she handed over the key. He was glad to be blanked; he was so exhausted all he wanted to do was sleep.

Sam woke with a stiff neck. ‘ **Cow & Chicken’** was playing on the TV and he stared at it mindlessly for a moment recalling how much Dean liked the stupid cow. He swallowed and rubbed at his eyes. He missed his brother so much, and the empty bed glared accusingly at him reminding him of just how alone he was.

He dressed quickly; the janitor’s uniform had been cleaned since he last wore it and it was stiff and itchy against his skin. He shaved and tied his hair back into an untidy pony-tail. The mottled mirror showed a pale, thin face with deep shadowed eyes. He looked and felt far older than his 31 years and he tried to remember when he had last had a break. His _normal_ life with Amelia seemed like a million years ago, and he wondered, randomly, what she was doing now. Did Riot miss him? Did anyone ever ask about him? Did anybody wonder where he had gone?

**Day 2**

 

Driving to the school he snaps out of his funk and settles to his task with renewed determination. After traveling and sleeping he has twenty-seven days left. Just twenty-seven days to save his brother. It seems like a long time but he knows, from experience that it isn’t.

He leaves the stolen car a mile out and walks the rest of the way. As the school comes into view his mouth goes dry and his heart starts beating two-to-the dozen. There are hundreds of kids flooding through the gates, but he knows that Sam and Dean Winchester aren’t there, he knows that they arrive later. He mingles with the crowd and gets in through the doors without a problem. He knows there is little or no security in the school and he also knows his way around. The grey uniform makes him anonymous, and he smiles tightly to himself as he makes his way to the supply cupboard and picks the lock. Ten minutes later he has a mop, a bucket and a set of keys. He knows he is gonna’ have to do something about the regular janitor, but for now he concentrates on mopping, his feet echoing in the empty corridor, all the students in their classes now ready to start the day.

**Day 3**

Sam has the advantage of knowing what’s going to happen but that doesn’t stop the lurch in his stomach when he opens the supply closet and finds his brother with his hand down a girl’s blouse. Neither of them see him for a moment, both so engrossed in what they’re doing, so he coughs and Dean whirls around, the smirk on his face settling into something else entirely.

“Hey,” his voice is higher than Sam remembers and full of self-confidence. “I had an agreement, man.”

“Not with me.” It’s all Sam can do to keep his voice steady. He can’t stop staring at Dean. It’s his brother alive and vital, and it’s so fucking hard to breathe.

“Tom said I could use the closet.” Dean, ever the gentleman, moves so he shields the nameless girl long enough for her to make herself decent. Sam can feel his hands shaking and he thrusts them into his pocket.

“Tom’s not here right now,” he’s making a vain attempt at sounding as if he has some authority, but it’s hard.

He’d forgotten just how beautiful his brother was. His skin is pale, a smattering of freckles across his nose making him look even younger, oddly innocent. All the pain he’s endured has gone; his face as smooth as alabaster, those Jade green eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes are free of shadows, and it makes Sam ache to look at him.

“Look . . . .” Dean spreads his arms wide. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to the principal, he’s got it in for me.”

Sam nodded or thought he did, his head felt heavy on his neck and his throat was so full he couldn’t swallow. He knew, of course, that his brother had an _arrangement_ with the _real_ janitor. He spent all of last night in some seedy bar persuading Tom that he needed a break, giving him a fair amount of his purloined cash to stay away for a while. Sam figures the school is big enough that no one will notice a change with the cleaning staff, and even if they did he’ll be long gone before they find out.

“I’m no snitch.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Just get out of here and make sure you go to your classes.” He looked down at his brother. “Be good,” he added.

Dean grinned and the girl blushed. They both made a relieved run for it and Sam watched them go. He hadn’t anticipated it being so hard, or so painful, seeing Dean again, especially a Dean who was so young and so carefree. Sam could recall how he’d felt about Dean even then. His older brother, his hero, and his caretaker. Without Dean, Sam would never have been able to cope. It was Dean that got him up in the morning, Dean who made his breakfast, Dean who gave him lunch money, and Dean whose hand-me downs he wore. This was going to be more difficult than he’d ever imagined and he wondered if he could actually do this.

Sam’s arms ache from mopping up and down the corridors, until he thinks he might go mad. The bell sounds suddenly and makes him jump. Kids flood out of every room pushing and shoving and when Sam sees Barry he slips quickly into the supply closet. He knows that _young_ Sam will be close by and he doesn’t want to risk his life just yet.

He stays in the closet fussing around the shelves, his watch reads 3.15pm and he tries desperately to hold back a yawn. 

“Hey!”

He turned to see Dean standing in the doorway. He was smirking a little, the leather jacket that _their_ dad had recently given him hanging off his thin frame. 

“Hey.” Sam wanted so much it hurt. He wanted to reach out and envelope Dean in his arms, he wanted to hug him tight and bury his nose into his neck. “What can I do for you?”

Dean reached into the canvas bag he carried over his shoulder. He handed Sam a six pack of beer and Sam saw the flush of red on his brother’s cheeks.

“It’s a thank you,” Dean explained roughly. “For not ratting on me.”

“Thanks.” Sam took the beer. Dean looked proud of himself and Sam wondered how he had managed to sneak the pack into school. “But I told you, I wouldn’t. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Dean nodded as he trailed his fingers over the shelves, tips dragging in the dust.

“What’s your name?”

Sam swallowed. He couldn’t use any of his usual aliases as he was convinced that even young Dean would be familiar with them. His mind worked furiously.

“Matt,” he said, finally. “Matt Smith.”

“Hi Matt, I’m Dean.” His brother held out a hand. “Dean Winchester, like the rifle.”

“Nice to meet you Dean.” Sam held on to Dean’s proffered hand a little too long. Dean’s fingers were strong and warm and so fucking familiar. 

“Yeah, well I was wondering if you wanted to continue with the – um – arrangement. . . .” Dean’s cheeks flushed a deeper red. “Let me use the keys to this place to – um – entertain.”

Sam chewed on his lip and pretended to consider. Of course he was gonna’ say yes, but he liked the look on Dean’s face, one of hopeful innocence, his brother before the weight of the world fell down on him.

“Sure,” he said, finally. “But only if you let me take you out for a real beer one night.” He watched Dean’s face, tried to read his expression. “My guess is that you might have a fake ID or two.”

Dean laughed then and nodded his assent. 

“Yeah. I’ve got IDs, and I’d like to have a beer with you Matt,” he enunciated the name, smiling around it, charm radiating from his body. “My little brother has some sort of lame chess club on a Friday, and then he’s gonna go for dinner with one of his friends . . . we could do it then?”

“Good.” Sam felt a vague unease. Here and now, he was almost twice his brother’s age. Dean was 18 and while he might not be a complete innocent, he wasn’t as experienced as he liked to pretend. Sam was an adult in a _stolen_ position of responsibility, and he didn’t want to push too hard.

“It’s a date then,” Dean continued with a smirk. “Maybe I’ll spring for ribs.”

“Sounds good.” Sam picked up his keys to bring the conversation to an end and Dean inclined his head in a quick farewell. Sam watched him leave full of swagger and confidence; his big brother, and the love of his life. 

Despite himself he couldn’t wait until Friday.

He went for a casual tee and a pair of worn jeans from goodwill. It was lucky they had something to fit him as he hadn’t exactly packed for his _journey_ , and had to rely on whatever he could find. He shaved and washed his hair, leaving it down instead of tying it in a pony. He felt odd, displaced, and guilty at fooling Dean; wondering how the hell he was going to play this.

Eventually, he was gonna’ have to tell Dean who he was. He had just over 3 weeks left now, and he hadn’t got much further than this. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of his brother’s corpse, the sight of him turning blue and falling to the floor, and the terrible air of finality.

The bar was small but lively. There was a row of tables in one corner and the smell of alcohol permeated the whole place. Sam felt his boots virtually sticking to the floor as he peered through the semi-darkness looking for Dean.

“You made it then.” His brother appeared at his elbow as if he had been spirited there. “You look a lot different out of that uniform.”

Sam’s mouth was dry and his brain was working double time. From what he had seen, back when he _WAS_ fourteen and Dean was his hero, his brother was straight. He’d always seen Dean with a girl on his arm, and had known that his sibling was fond of casual hook-ups and kinky sex. The fact that, once his guilt was assuaged, Dean was happy to give Sam multiple orgasms made no difference. Right up until they’d become involved with each other, Dean had always been a full-bloodied American male who got insulted when anyone questioned his sexuality. Now, in this nowhere bar, Sam was beginning to wonder if he’d misread his brother all along.

“Most people would,” he replied making a joke of it, and hoped his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. “They don’t exactly make it to flatter.”

“True.” Dean put a hand on the small of his back and moved him towards the bar. “You must work out man, you’re pretty buff.”

“I train regularly,” Sam replied truthfully and Dean nodded, his eyes scanning Sam, looking him up and down.

“A tall drink of water too.” Dean looked up and up. “Just how tall are you?”

“6ft 5 in my shoes.” Sam glanced at the shabby boots he wore with a wry smile and Dean followed his gaze. “Not that they make much of a difference.”

“Guess they don’t pay janitors all that much.” Dean leaned against the bar and winked at the buxom bartender who came straight over. “Let me get these.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a card that Sam just knew was fake. “A pitcher of beer darlin’ and two plates of your hot wings.”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She didn’t even bother to ask for ID, and Sam couldn’t hold back a smile. Dean picked up the pitcher and led Sam through the scrum of people to a booth in the corner. It was a pretty intimate place out of sight of the bar, and the crowd, and Sam sat down opposite Dean trying to keep their ankles from tangling.

“You don’t have to be shy around me man.” Dean leaned over so that his forehead almost touched Sam’s. 

“Dean.” Sam moved back slightly. “I’m flattered but you . . . .” He felt stupidly tongue-tied. This was his brother, but it wasn’t, not really. This was a Dean Sam barely recognized. A Dean that had been Sam’s caretaker, more of a father to him than John ever was. 

“Come on, man.” Dean pressed closer and Sam could see that familiar smirk, those clear Jade eyes and that mouth that just screamed temptation. “I might be young, but I’ve had to grow up pretty fast. I’ve seen more things than most people would ever believe. I’ve done things too! You don’t have to worry about me.”

Sam swallowed, his jeans were suddenly much too tight and he could feel goose bumps crawling along his skin. It’d been a while since he and Dean had been intimate, and he wanted – shit, how he wanted. He couldn’t resist the urge to cup Dean’s cheek in his palm, and he stared into those eyes and tried desperately to resist enticement.

“Dean,” he began but his brother grinned and shook his head.

“Come on, Matt,” Dean whispered. “You want it, and you know you do.”

“I saw you with that girl in my store cupboard,” Sam said and tried to keep it light hearted, tried to keep the heat and want out of his voice. “You seemed to be getting’ enough from her.”

“Yeah, but then I saw you man,” Dean’s voice was as smooth as silk. “And I decided that nothing could compare.”

Sam stood up so fast he knocked over his beer, soaking his shirt and splattering the liquid down his _new_ jeans. Dean was laughing, holding out a hand to him but Sam couldn’t handle it. He lost it big time, pushing Dean back and rushing out of the bar.

Back at the motel room he felt a failure, an idiot and a coward. Somewhere in the back of his mind the _level headed_ part of him, was telling him that he was being stupid. Although he was only 18 this was still his brother, it was still Dean. They had been in a relationship for nigh on eight years and there was no need to feel any guilt. Except where there was.

_This Dean_ looked after his little brother. To _this Dean_ , Sam was an awkward, geeky 14 year old who needed his protection. There was no way _this Dean_ would be harboring any illicit thoughts about his baby-brother, and there was no way he could even guess what was going to go down between them. That didn’t mean that Sam wasn’t longing to pull Dean into his arms and kiss him stupid. Dean would always turn him on; he would always need Dean, and he would always want Dean. Sam sighed and buried his head in his hands. This was not going as well as he had hoped, and he was beginning to wonder if he could actually save his brother.

**Day 10**

He’d stayed clear of Dean for a few days in the hope to make himself feel better. He’d moved around the school doing odd jobs and blending in the best he could, and he’d kept an eye on Dean from a distance. His brother seemed as confident and cocky as ever; chatting up girls and generally strutting around the place like ‘King of the Hill’. Sam watched him and wondered if he could do this, wondered if he should just go over to his brother and tell him the truth.

A tap on the closet door broke him from his reverie and he turned to see Dean standing in the doorway. He had a smirk on his face and his green eyes were bright and alert, sharp on Sam’s face.

“Avoiding me?” It was mostly a statement but Sam took it as a question and shrugged his shoulders going for casual.

“Not really, I’ve just been busy.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean moved in and despite the difference in their size, somehow managed to maneuver Sam so that he was pressed up against one of the shelves. “Come on Matt,” his voice was smooth, encouraging. “It’s time to put up, or shut up, and we both know which it’s gonna be.”

Sam opened his mouth but nothing came out, instead he lurched forward and pressed his lips against Dean’s. It was clumsy and oddly unfamiliar at first, spit and tongues and then they fell into rhythm and it was smooth and hot and Sam just wanted.

There was a small box in the corner of the closet and, as they kissed, Sam nudged Dean backwards so his ass hit it and he was forced into a sitting position. Sam stepped between his open legs and, still kissing, fumbled with his zipper. Dean groaned and Sam felt him smirk against his mouth. 

“So hot in that stupid coverall,” Dean mumbled and broad fingers made light work of Sam’s buttons popping them open one by one. “God you’re fucking huge!” Dean made a contented sound and pulled Sam’s cock out through the slit in his boxers. The very touch of his brother made Sam hiss and pull his mouth from Dean’s, breathing heavy over his face and neck. Dean reached up one hand and wrapped it around Sam’s neck to hold him there. Sam moved his own hand down and freed Dean’s cock from the confines of his pants and briefs. Dean groaned at that and pulled Sam even closer. 

“Come on.” he wriggled in Sam’s grasp. “Come on.” His free hand enveloped both of their cocks and he started to rub them together. Sam grabbed Dean’s ass and dug his fingers in, his cock leaking steadily in Dean’s experienced grasp. He might have wondered where his brother had learned to do what he was doing but he was too turned on, mindless with lust, forgetting everything but Dean’s hand on him, and his hand on Dean. 

It didn’t take long; he was too wound up, adrenaline thrumming through him. Dean gave a sudden shout of relief and spurted hot and wet over their cocks and fingers. That was all it took, and Sam was coming too, the sweet scent of sex flooding the closet, both of them panting and gasping, unable to let go.

He knew he should feel guilty, but he didn’t. He lay on the lumpy motel bed and remembered what it had felt like to have Dean in his arms again, remembered the scent of him, and the feel. He licked his lips and swore he could still taste Dean. He sighed and rolled onto his side. It was still pretty early and a thin sliver of grey pierced through the blinds heralding morning. He had only seventeen days left and, after what had happened between them, he wasn’t sure he could tell Dean who he really was. He knew how guilt affected his older brother, knew that Dean would angst about what had happened for years to come. What they had between them had been a long time coming and it had taken Dean several weeks to stop feeling guilty. Sam sighed and sat up knowing he wasn’t gonna’ sleep again. He’d come too far to fail now, and today he was going to have to confess and hope that Dean would believe him and actually do as he asked.

“Come on, Matt.” He wasn’t surprised to find himself pushed up against the closet door again. “You loved it last time.”

Sam swallowed hard and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. Dean hadn’t quite grown into his body yet, and they felt thinner beneath his fingers. He pushed Dean gently so that the younger man was forced to step away. Green eyes met his, and Sam could see the confusion there.

“I thought you liked it man,” he said, softly. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do,” Sam said and swallowed. “More than you’ll ever understand.”

“This is intense.” Dean shook his head, a frown denting his forehead. “I mean we were having fun, Matt. No need to complicate things.”

“Things are complicated.” Sam glanced around the closet. He couldn’t do this here and now, he needed to go somewhere more private, he needed to talk to his brother. “I’ve a motel room nearby.” He glanced at Dean and tried to read his brother’s expression. Dean looked perplexed and more than a little lost. “I’d like to take things there.”

“Okay.” There was a hint of suspicion in Dean’s eyes. “I think.”

“Please,” Sam couldn’t keep the urgency out of his voice. “I really need to do this.”

“What’s goin’ on _Matt_?” the sarcasm in his brother’s tone wasn’t lost on him. “If that is your name. What sort of game are you playin’ with me?”

“This is no game, Dean.” His tongue felt too big for his mouth and his eyes ached. “This is deadly serious.”

Dean chewed on his lip for a moment and then nodded. Sam saw his capitulation and let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. 

“Here.” He handed Dean his key. “Meet me after school.” He blinked and wiped at his face angrily. “Promise me you’ll come.”

“Yeah.” Dean still looked a little lost, and vulnerable. “I promise.”

And Sam had to believe him.

Future Dean would have called him a princess and taunted him mercilessly. He tidied the room the best he could. Made the bed, folded up his stuff and wiped the worn down table clean. He needed to keep moving, to be doing something. If he stopped then he would have to think, and he couldn’t face thinking at that moment. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say a million different times, but it never sounded right, and he wasn’t sure how Dean was going to take it especially since they had become _intimate_.

Dean was late and, for a moment, Sam was certain he wasn’t gonna’ come at all. He sat on one of the beds with his head in his hands, his mind deliberately blank. He was about to reach for the cheap whiskey he’d invested in when there was a rap on the door.

Dean was wearing an old plaid shirt and shabby jeans. Sam remembered them clearly as they had been handed down to him at some point. He recalled how stupidly happy he’d been to get them, how they had been soft on his skin, and how they had smelled of his brother.

“Hey,” he had to swallow down the lump in his throat before he could continue. “I didn’t think you were gonna’ come.”

“Wasn’t gonna’.” Dean’s bottom lip thrust out in a stubborn pout. “I thought we had somethin’ man, I didn’t expect you to wuss out on me.”

“Dean.” Sam stepped back so Dean could follow him inside. “There’s a lot more to this than you know. Not everything is how it seems.” 

“What’s going on?” Dean sat on the opposite bed. “What is it you’ve gotta’ tell me?”

Sam sighed; he leaned forward and put his hand on Dean’s knee, his finger catching in the worn denim, nails tugging at the loose thread. He ached all over and he realized, with a jolt, just how much he missed his brother, even though _Dean_ was sitting right in front of him.

“I know you are gonna’ have trouble with what I’m about to say, but I also know you’ve seen and done more than most eighteen year olds.” Confused jade eyes stared back at him. “Please, just promise to listen. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m not Matt Smith, I’m not even a real janitor. The thing is . . . I’m your brother, Dean. I’m Sam.”

For a moment there was silence; long and cloying. Sam couldn’t read his brother’s expression. Dean had his game face on, eyes glaringly blank. Sam could feel his own hands shaking and he was holding Dean’s knee with a grip of iron. 

“Fucking liar!” It exploded out of Dean like a bolt from the blue. “My brother is fourteen-fucking-years-old! And a midget! You . . . . That’s not possible. What sort of game are you playin’?”

“It’s no game, Dean. I wish it was.” Sam noticed Dean’s hand moving and he knew just what was happening. Before his brother could pull out the knife he had hidden in his boot Sam grabbed his wrist and twisted it, held it firm in his hand. Dean grunted in pain and anger, eyes wild. “Come on Dean. I know what you do, what you and your family are. You’ve seen things most people wouldn’t even dream of, so why is this so hard to believe.”

Dean said nothing, he was staring at Sam in horror and dawning realization and Sam felt his heart break just a little.

“What are you?” Dean ground out. “Shifter or something else?”

“I’m not a monster. I’m Sam. Look at me Dean, really look at me.”

He stood still then, his brother’s wrist tight in his grasp, his brother’s eyes burning into him like fire. He saw Dean take in his messy hair, the slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw. He saw Dean catalog the mole just by his mouth, the slant of his eyes. Realization dawned and Dean went limp in Sam’s grasp, slumping to the ground so quick he brought Sam down with him.

They were on the floor between the beds and so close together that Sam could smell the sharp tang of Dean’s sweat, and hear the harsh drag of his breath. 

“Why?” Dean sounded so lost that the pain it caused was almost physical. “This doesn’t make any sense.” His eyes were bleak. “We . . . w-we . . . I’m your brother, and we . . . .”

Sam saw the flush on his cheeks and he lowered his eyes unable to meet his brother’s gaze. His own face was flushed and he knew that Dean was having trouble processing the information.

“I know this is hard for you to take in, and I’m sorry. This was the only way. It was the only way I could think to save you. Shit, now I’m here I kinda’ want to stop everything.” Sam swallowed, sudden comprehension almost flooring him for a second time. He had come back to try and stop his brother taking the mark but, in reality, he could put a stop to everything bad that had ever happened to them. He could prevent Dean from taking the deal, and maybe even stop his own death at Cold Oak. He could change the course of their history completely. No Apocalypse, no cage, no soulless Sam, and no demon Dean. He felt light-headed, his head spinning and he slumped forward, his head resting in his hands. For a moment everything was still and then he felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder, fingers rubbing across his back in a familiar gesture of comfort.

 

“Oh God,” he choked out, tears streaming down his cheeks. What had he done? Why the hell did he think he could change anything?

“You must have come here for a reason. Time-travel, man!” Dean sounded more like himself now, more self-assured. “I didn’t know it was possible.”

“A spell,” Sam said and recalled the terms now, and he knew he could only do what he had come for, “In the future. . . .”

“You got big, Sammy,” Dean sounded a little awed. “Bigger than me, yeah?”

Sam swallowed again and nodded; Dean gripped his shoulders and pulled him in, holding him close in a tight warm embrace.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me why you took this risk. Tell me why you’ve came all this way.” His hands were gentle in Sam’s hair. “Despite everything you’re still my _little_ brother. You did this for me.” It was a statement and not a question. “You came here for me.”

Sam nodded again, he couldn’t speak and he couldn’t stop the warm tears from flooding down his cheeks. Instead he let himself lean into his brother’s embrace and let his brother hold him.

It took him a while to gather himself together. This was an important moment and he needed to explain himself fully. Part of the spell meant that Dean wouldn’t remember this moment, but would remember what he’d promised to do. So if Sam asked him not to take the mark then he wouldn’t take the mark. There were so many other things Sam could have asked, but he didn’t want to risk changing too much. All he really wanted was his brother back and he had to hope and pray that this worked.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed and listened; his expression was unreadable, his body still, and poised. Sam swore he could hear his own heart beating and he had to keep stopping, pausing over the difficult bits of the story, wanting to skip over the trials and all that came after. Dean didn’t comment, not a word, and Sam found himself stumbling to a conclusion, his throat sore, and his whole body one big ache. Neither of them moved and Sam wondered if it had all been for nothing, as he wondered if Dean believed him. 

“God, Sam,” his brother broke the silence, his voice rough as if he was the one who had been talking the past hour. “All that is gonna happen to us?” He shuddered. “Sammy,” he breathed, soft and desperate. “All I ever wanted to do was protect you. Man, you are . . . were . . . are . . . such a clever fucker, and yet so vulnerable.” Green eyes met his. “If I do as you ask, will we be okay?”

Sam shook his head, he didn’t know the answer anymore; all he could do was hope. Hope was all he had right now, and it had to be enough.

It was sudden; Dean surged forward and pressed his lips against Sam’s. Dean gripped his shirt hard and tight not giving him a chance to get away, his tongue forcing itself into Sam’s mouth. It was obvious what Dean wanted and, despite his misgivings, Sam would give it to him. Perhaps it might be the last chance for both of them.

Dean pulled Sam down on the bed and Sam found himself lying half on top of his brother, Dean’s erection hard against his hip. Dean seemed to have lost any inhibitions he might have had. His fingers pulled at Sam’s shirt pushing it off Sam’s shoulders.

“Wanna’ see you naked, Sammy,” Dean hissed and it sounded so wrong yet so right coming from his mouth. “Wanna’ see all of you.”

Sam acquiesced. He pulled off his own shirt and jeans then pushed down his boxers. His cock was already hard, leaking against his stomach. Dean whistled through his teeth and grinned cocky and predatory.

“Fuck me,” he pleaded.

“No.” Sam shook his head, and Dean opened his mouth to protest. Sam moved swiftly to lie back down on the bed. “I want you to fuck me.”

Since their relationship had turned physical Sam had always been _the bottom_. He didn’t know why or how it had happened, but he didn’t care. He loved the feel of his brother inside of him, loved the way Dean treated him as if he were some delicate flower. He wondered if it was some sort of _little brother_ kink and, frankly, he didn’t care if it was. He wanted Dean so badly and now was no different. 

“Jesus, Sam.” Dean was already scrambling out of his own clothes. “You . . . look at you.”

“Come on, Dean.” Sam lay down and opened his legs, Dean didn’t need asking twice, and he seemed to have gotten over his incest worries pretty quickly. He lacked the finesse of _future_ Dean, but he more than made up for it with enthusiasm. Sam clung on to him, dug his ankles into Dean’s ass, licked his ear and kissed his neck, did everything he knew to push Dean’s buttons. Before long Dean was coming and it was the feel of his brother hot and wet that sent Sam over the edge and his orgasm felt endless and immense as he held Dean closer than ever swearing that he was going to save him. Dean kissed him and buried his head in the juncture between Sam’s neck and shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time and, if Sam closed his eyes, it was almost as if _his_ Dean was back with him again.

**2014**

He came back to himself slowly. His whole body hurt, pains in his legs and arms, a sharp stabbing in his head. He lay in the center of the circle and, when he wiped his face, his hand came away wet. He got to his feet and resisted the urge to vomit; his head still spinning. He felt wrung out and exhausted and he wondered if it had all been worth it.

He could still see Dean’s face, flushed after their last bout of love making. Dean sated and happy, his green eyes glowing with affection.

“You grew up fine, Sammy.” His brother had smiled, and hugged him tight. “I can’t get over the fact that you’re the _big brother_ now, but still . . . .” 

They’d laughed then, humor taking the place of angst, their own _‘fuck-you’_ against a world that had been nothing but unkind to them. Dean had sat with Sam in the motel room until it grew dark and then he’d had to go to _take care of Sammy._.

Sam had watched him leave. Tried to recall what he’d felt back in ‘97, a fourteen year old plagued by growing pains and the lack of a real home. He remembered how much he had hated being so transient, how he had fought almost constantly with his dad, and recalled how Dean had been his only constant then as much as now. He’d loved his brother, and their painful co-dependency had been the root of most of their problems.

He cleaned up the best he could; it seemed odd to sweep away the remnants of the spell, the only reminder of his travels. He knew, subconsciously, that he was only doing this to kill time, too afraid of actually leaving the dungeon, as he was scared of what he might or might not find when he did.

Even the artificial light hurt his eyes as he pulled back the bookcases and stepped into the bunker. His hands were shaking as he fastened the bolts, and his mind kept going back to a story he’d once read by Ray Bradbury called, _‘The Sound of Thunder’._ The protagonist in that story hadn’t done as he was told, had wandered off the path and altered his entire future (and the worlds) by stepping on a butterfly. Sam didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, but who knew, perhaps he would climb the stairs to the main room and find it overrun by dinosaurs or something similar.

He laughed weakly to himself as he walked down familiar, unchanged corridors. His footsteps echoed and he swallowed hard. It still felt as if he was alone, the bunker felt empty of all life, save his own.

“Sam.”

He whirled around at the sound of that familiar voice, his throat closing, mouth dry. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe and he had to lean against the wall for a moment.

Dean looked like – well – he looked like Dean. He was wearing the stupid _dead guy_ robe, and his feet were bare. His hair was messy and damp and it was obvious he’d just stepped out of the shower. Sam couldn’t speak; Dean was staring at him, eyebrow raised.

“Sam,” he said again, more insistent. “Hey, earth to Sam.” He smiled then, warm and genuine. “You okay, Sammy?”

“I . . . .” Sam looked at his watch. It showed that an hour had passed since he’d gone down to the dungeon and activated the spell. Despite the fact nearly a month had passed _in the past_ , it was still the same date.

“I couldn’t do it, Sam.” Dean moved over to him and put his hands on Sam’s shoulders. Strong, familiar hands, hands that had held him since the moment he was born, hands that had saved him more times than he could ever count. “Crowley wanted me to, that was obvious and . . . I know you’re pissed at me cos of Gadreel, but I-I couldn’t let you die, Sam.”

Sam knew then and, before he was even aware of moving, he had his brother in his arms.

“”It’s alright. It’s alright, I understand,” he couldn’t stop talking now, the words pouring out of him. “I love you. I love you, Dean. I’m not angry anymore.”

And he wasn’t; he knew the lengths they went to save each other, he knew first hand, and he wasn’t going to regret any of it.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice was muffled against Sam’s shoulder. “I thought you didn’t want me here. That’s why I went with Crowley looking for the first blade. We found it, but it’s no good without the Mark of Cain. Shit, Sam. Crowley wanted me to take it, and I very nearly did but then . . . .” His eyes met Sam’s with dawning comprehension. “I don’t know what you did,” he said, finally. “And I don’t want to, but it feels different. Everything feels different.”

“We’ll find another way to defeat Abaddon.” Sam wasn’t letting his brother go. “I promise.”

He felt, rather than heard, Dean’s capitulation. He wanted nothing more than to grab his brother and take him to bed, keep him there until they were both so exhausted from fucking that they wouldn’t move for a week. His intentions must have been pretty clear because Dean moved a little, kissing Sam’s clavicle and moving his hands down to clasp Sam’s ass.

“You wanna’ tell me why the hell you’re wearing that janitor outfit?” Dean’s voice was a soft breath against his ear.

“Not really.” Happiness had seemed like an alien emotion for so long that he didn’t want to let it go so easily. He pushed at Dean just a little so that they were face to face, his finger resting beneath his brother’s chin. Dean was here in front of him, here and real, there would be no Mark, no blade, no demon Dean and, despite the fact they still had a myriad of problems to solve, Sam just needed to hold him.

Dean stared back at him for the longest time and he smirked and stood on the tip of his toes so that he could kiss Sam’s mouth, his intentions obvious.

“No problem, _Matt_!” he whispered and time, with all of its infinite wonders, stood still.

Fin


End file.
